Her aunt had summoned up an altogether too vivid picture of her father as the masterful man, overbearing, emphatic, sentimental, noisy, aimless. “All right so far,” she said to herself. There was a gentle rustling of skirts. There’s no logic in these things. How she had coveted her mother’s beauty and sought to emulate it, if only to please her. “By Jove!” she said, standing up at last, “that about finishes it, Ann Veronica!” CHAPTER THE TENTH THE SUFFRAGETTES Part 1 “There is only one way out of all this,” said Ann Veronica, sitting up in her little bed in the darkness and biting at her nails. He tells me that you will not even see him. But "fine" is the word. Oh, what’s his name? It’s on the tip of my tongue.
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